While all blogging is fixated on grandstanding by nature, my latest blog laying bare some of my greatest weeknesses proved the most liked since the dawn of this project.
Don’t know if it’s because are people – also by nature – hungry for others’ weaknesses, or because, on the contrary, they find refuge in the thought others struggle – and survive.
Accustomed to being unlike others, I’ve grown some senses for similarities and dissimilarities among people, countries, you name it. Also for similating and dissimulating feelings – and, by the devil, I’m most successful in my real life when I don’t lose my hold of this craft.
Speaking about real life, I ventured again – for a certain period – in the tumultous ocean called Facebook but prefer staying as close to the shore as possible. Virtually no likes of pics, no comments, just sharing info and greeting people on birthdays beyond the usual messenger.
Next time I go will be different. No official announcements. People will have to get used to the ad hoc nature of my facebooking, something like cyclophrenia. And my eternal wandering.
Much as I’m in love with this city and I am sure to be in an even deeper love with Lithuanian countryside, ever more signs whisper in my ear – a tiny hommage to my Hungarian background – this adventure will be quite short-lived. And the shorter lived it is, the more I am into exploring the surroundings and breathing this spring I have not scented the kind of since losing my home in Varna.
Indeed, this flavour of life is killing me. Albeit, on the other hand, I am happy so many things I thought lost forever somehow exist elsewhere in the world, somewhere other than the place where they used to be and are no more. Sometimes it is just a whiff. Sometimes it lasts till after my agonizing enslumbering, the most flagrant of which I had yesternight.
But there is no one to blame, I know. The more, there is nothing we should blame anyone for.
It is just the advent of His will, and for that, we have to be grateful (disclaimer: no irony intended or implied here. )
And yes, I am, indeed, honestly and innerly grateful for being here.
Like Hungary, homebred milk is cheaper than the kind sold in the shop, but unlike Hungary, the market here is closed on Mondays, and I haven’t been there on any Sunday yet, firmly believing till recently it was actually closed on Sundays and after passing by it one Monday, becoming convinced it was actually only open on Saturdays. Bad news: the ladies that sell milk do not come during the week. And I am yet to encounter a shop regularly selling farm milk the way it is done in Budapest.
But there are a lot more things to encounter here you don’t get in Budapest. The market I am writing about, named Kalvarijų turgus after the eponymous street its main enxtrance is located in (the back entrance I use to approach it from being located in mine) is nothing like anything you can get in Hungary.
It is a manifest of the post-soviet reality in this euro-currencied country, with people coming from the countryside each weekend to sell what’s left in their homes from the past – remember that post about the bleak houses? – in the hopes of earning some money to make both ends meet.
So many people selling things I’d be glad to buy if I weren’t spending my money on metal and occasionally other records. And sometimes food. Resocialising myself will inevitably result in unexpected spending, something that I can’t obviously avoid but will be more than happy to reduce to a bearable level.
And if I ever decide to choose Lithuania as my permanent headquarters – a notion ever harder to interpret in my case – this spending, along with the temporary return to Facebook used to facilitate my organising meetings with ole buddies and iinding (ideas on how to find) new ones will prove an investment. My firm belief is that there is no point in living as a foreigner in a country you chose to live in. One can do the same things more or less everywhere in modern Europe, but inhaling the spirit of the place you live in is over to you if you really want to feel you are not by chance where you are.
The unique features of a city, town, village, sea…those that make it unlike any other in the world.